The Premonition
by letmesign172
Summary: Alice's story
1. Chapter 1

_**This is Alice's life before and after she becomes a vampire, all the way up to when she meets Jasper. I don't care if it's accurate or not, I just did this for fun. **_

Alice's POV:

Slowly, I stuck my finger into the creek, feeling around for the little frogs. One jumped onto my hand and let out a guttural _ribbbittt_. My fingers caressed its bumpy back; it was all slimy. I carefully leaned back and sat on the banks of the creek. My home was only a couple meters away from Creek Biloxi, so I'd come to call it; I could even see my house from here. Why had I come to call it Creek Biloxi? It was dead centre in my hometown of Biloxi, Mississippi.

"Hello there." I smiled at the little frog.

_Ribbbittt,_ it responded.

"Talking to frogs are you, Mary?" a voice laughed.

I looked up to see Tommy Brown, a boy who lived down the road. He was awfully rude to me and my sister. I don't think I've ever seen an instance where he wasn't being a jerk. He pushed his long brown hair out of his face to reveal his green eyes; Tommy had always been handsome, one of the most handsome boys in the whole town, but I'd always been a sucker for blondes.

"Don't tease me." I frowned, pushing my waist length black hair out of my face too.

"It's not my fault you're a freak." He sighed.

"I'm not a freak!" I stood up.

"Well, what's your definition of freak?" He chuckled.

"You." I replied, sweet and short.

"I don't talk to frogs." He defended himself. "And I don't see the **future**. And I don't lie 'bout seeing the future either."

"How dare you call me a liar!" I shouted, putting the frog back into the water.

"If you're not a liar, is everybody supposed to think that you're actually a soothsayer?" He laughed.

"I've seen it." I whimpered. "I have. I know what's going to happen."

"Fine then." He stepped closer. "Tell my future. Right now."

"It doesn't happen that way. I can't chose when to see, it just happens." I explained.

"Ugh, you're hopeless." He snickered. "You know, you're kinda cute. I was gonna take you across the bridge with me tonight, but now I don't think I want to go with a lunatic."

"You're going across the bridge?" I wondered, standing up straighter.

"We're going to the barn tonight, me and some of my friends." he told me, leaning against a tree. "My older brother, Christopher, invited us over. It should be real fun."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't have wanted to go anyway." I tried sounding confident. I was such a liar – of course I wanted to go with him.

"Well, I would've wanted to take you." He looked away from me.

"You should leave." I frowned.

"Why?" He wondered.

"To get ready." I wiped the dirt off of my skirt. "Don't you guys leave at sundown to cross the bridge?"

"Yeah." He raised an eyebrow. "How did you know that?"

"You're not exactly sly and silent. You're easy to hear and see from my front porch."

"So you're watching us?" He smirked.

"No." I explained. "You're just crossing my line of vision."

"MARY!" My mother shouted.

"I'm coming!" I yelled back.

"Alright, well, have fun, kid." He laughed. "And if you see anything on me in one of your 'visions', let me know, ok?"

"Humph." I turned to walk away.

"MARY ALICE BRANDON!" my mother yelled again.

"I'M COMING!" I repeated.

"Buh-bye, Mary." Tommy winked.

"Goodbye." I began to walk away, trying not to seem too eager to get away from him.

As I turned my back to him, I could hear him chuckling to himself. I realize I was different, I didn't think I was crazy. Was I crazy? Maybe I was. If I saw somebody that said they could see the future, I would think they were insane. I probably **was** insane in everybody else's eyes; I was the freak, the freak who was a fortune-teller. Maybe it if I learned to master it, it wouldn't be so much of curse anymore … maybe it would be a gift. As I pondered all this over, I didn't even notice my little sister Cynthia walk by, with her chin held high and a proud smile on her face. She was normal. Why couldn't I be like her?

Before I knew it, here came another vision, the same way all the others had come before it. An image passed before my eyes, like some kind of video.

"_C'mon you sissies!" A male's voice yelled._

"_We can't cross the bridge, Tommy. My folks said it wasn't safe." another boy said._

"_Yeah, man." someone else said. "If you wanna risk your life, go ahead." _

"_You guys are such wimps." The voice I recognized as Tommy's._

"_I wouldn't go across there, Tommy." a girl's voice whimpered._

"_Aww, shut up. You don't know anything." Tommy put one foot forward. "See! Nothing's happening. Boohoo, I'm scared!" He mocked everyone else. _

_I suddenly saw a Tommy step closer to the river, much larger than Creek Biloxi. _

"_Maybe we should just go home!" Another boy's voice yelled._

"_The barn is right over there." Tommy shouted. "Let's just go, alright?" I heard a distant barking. Probably just a farm dog._

_Tommy stepped closer to the rushing river and then _…… the image in my mind went black.

"Mary!" My mother hovered over me. "Are you alright?"

"What?" I breathed.

"You just kind of froze and then fell over." Cynthia frowned.

"I'm fine." I frowned. Then I paused. "But Tommy won't be."

"Tommy Brown?" Cynthia looked up at our mother than back at me.

"He's going to drown in the river." I muttered.

"Ugh, not again with these visions." My mother groaned, and then picked me up off the ground. "You are going to stay in bed, Mary Alice. And you are not allowed to leave this house until all this vision crap is over."

"But I have to tell Tommy what's going to happen." I frowned.

"You will do no such thing." she sighed, walking up the front steps and through the front door.

"I need to save him!" I shouted.

"Don't raise your voice with me!" my mother scolded. "Now you go up to your room, and you stay there!"

I slowly trudged up to my room. I wasn't crazy! Tommy Brown's life was about to end and I needed to stop it! … But why would I? Wasn't Tommy just criticizing me, teasing me, calling me a freak? I shouldn't be responsible for him and I shouldn't have to save him. If he did die, that wasn't my problem, it was his. I would stay up here for as long as it took, and besides, maybe my vision was wrong. Maybe there was a glitch in the future-seeing part of my brain or whatever. Hopefully, I was wrong.

**********

I was laying bed around 8:00 PM that night. I knew that Tommy and his friends would be heading for the bridge by now. I'd been thinking for hours how he would drown; why didn't he just cross the bridge? Was the bridge not there? Or was Tommy just being stupid? Whatever the reason, Tommy Brown would probably die in a couple of minutes … and I would have a front row seat from my bedroom window. I could watch the water crash over his head, as his hands would flail above the water, trying to find something to hold onto.

It was a pretty horrendous thing to think about, and it was my entire fault that it would happen. I knew of his death, and I was unable to do anything about it …. But nobody knew that I'd seen him die before it actually happened; my mother and sister had a vague idea of what I was trying to say, but they didn't know I wanted to put a stop to it. So it wasn't my fault, it was all Tommy's. No one had to know I knew.

_KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK _a loud noise broke my concentration.

It wasn't on my door, but on the front door downstairs. I creaked open my bedroom door and looked down the steps.

"Good evening, ma'am." An adult male said.

"Good evening, Mr. Parker." My mother responded. Mr. Parker worked down at the Biloxi Police Office. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm just going around telling every family not to use the Campton Bridge." Mr. Parker explained. "A Model T crossed it the other day and the driver reported that it felt unstable."

"Oh, well, thank you for the warning." my mother sighed. "I was actually going to head towards the shopping center tomorrow on that bridge. Now I'm not so sure I want to go."

"Well, some builders are going to take a look and are considering alleviating it." Mr. Parker reassured my mother. "But for now, it's best everyone steers clear of the bridge."

"Of course, Mr. Parker." my mother agreed.

"Have a pleasant night, Ms. Brandon." Mr. Parker said politely.

"Good night." My mother acknowledged.

The bridge was unsafe? That was probably why Tommy wanted to cross it. He **was** being stupid. I slowly walked back to sit on my bed, positive now that Tommy was sure to drown. There was no glitch in my brain; Tommy was sure to die to tonight and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

"C'mon you sissies!" A voice shouted obnoxiously.

I ran to the window and looked down at the bridge. And there was Tommy, accompanied by about five of his friends all with their girlfriends. Tommy was the only one without a girl, and he was the only one by the edge of the river.

"We can't cross the bridge, Tommy. My folks said it wasn't safe." a boy I recognized to be Michael Henderson shouted.

"Yeah, man." someone I didn't recognize said. "If you wanna risk your life, go ahead."

"You guys are such wimps." Tommy laughed.

I didn't care anymore how much I hated Tommy, and how much he teased me. I couldn't let him die. Even though I wouldn't have been the one who killed him, I would've felt like I had. It would've been all my fault. I dashed out of my bedroom and down the steps. My mom yelled for me to stop but I didn't listen. Unable to prevent the tears, I let one roll down my cheek as I ran as fast as I possibly could towards the Campton Bridge. When I pushed past his friends to try to get to Tommy they laughed at me, most likely wondering what the hell I was doing.

"I wouldn't go across there, Tommy." I warned.

"Aww, shut up. You don't know anything." He criticized, stepping forward another step. His foot was now centimeters from the bridge. "See! Nothing's happening. Boohoo, I'm scared!"

"Maybe we should just go home!" Michael protested.

"The barn is right over there! Let's just go, alright?" Tommy frowned. And on cue, the barking of the farm dog could be heard in the distance.

Tommy stepped closer, and the next thing we knew, he was standing on the Campton Bridge. Nothing was happening, nothing was wrong; the bridge didn't creak or waver. It stayed as steady as it always had been. Tommy laughed, "I told you all nothing was going to happen."

He strode across the bridge with ease, unscathed. Maybe Tommy wasn't going to die in the first place. Maybe he would be fine. I took a big sigh of relief … we all did.

"See, Mary Alice Brandon." Tommy sighed. "Nothing was going to happen to me. Hey, maybe since you decided to come, you could come with me to the barn anyway."

"Alright." I smiled widely. I would be Tommy Brown's date? Definitely not what I expected to happen tonight. "Would you escort me?"

"Of course." He grinned. He headed back towards the other side of the bridge, holding out his hand to me.

His smile was priceless, beautiful. In just those few seconds, I began to love everything about him. His eyes, his face, his figure, everything. And now he was sort of … mine. He stopped in the middle, signaling me to come and meet him. I took a step forward, intrigued by him. Before I could put one foot on the bridge, the barking of the farm dog grew louder. Was that a warning? But I ignored it. The barking suddenly got louder and louder, until one of the girls behind me breathed, "Tommy! The dog! The dog's behind you!"

We all turned to look at it, and sure enough there was a creature standing on the other side of the bridge behind Tommy. But it was no dog, this thing had to be a wolf; it was far too big to be a dog. It growled at Tommy, but Tommy showed no fear. He just laughed and turned back to look at me. "C'mon, Mary Alice. Don't be scared." He smiled.

I was about to step closer, but the dog pounced right onto Tommy.

What happened next seemed to happen all in a matter of a few short seconds: Tommy turned, the dog fell onto him, and then _BOOM _… down came Bridge Campton, Tommy, wolf and all. As the water swallowed Tommy up, the wolf began to howl loudly. Tommy flailed his arms, just as I knew he would, trying to grab a rock to hold onto, but there was nothing to reach. He fell into the river's flow and we couldn't see him anymore.

Tommy had drowned … and it was **all my fault**.


	2. Chapter 2

Alice's POV:

Guilt began to inevitably flow through my veins.

I had just seen someone die before my eyes, and I hadn't tried to prevent it – I hadn't even moved. I felt like an idiot. How could I have let this happen? There was a stillness in the prolonged seconds that passed; no one stirred, and for a moment, I thought no one was breathing either. We were all still recovering from the mental and physical shock that had just taken over our bodies …. But it wasn't long until people started pointing fingers.

"How could you do this to him?" a girl's voice quivered behind me.

I turned and looked at the group longingly. "Me?"

"Yeah, you." Michael Henderson criticized, holding his girlfriend closer to him, as if he were shielding her from something. It took me a second to realize he was shielding her from me.

"I-I'm … I'm not really sure what I did." I stuttered.

"If you hadn't asked him to 'escort you', like a self-centered little brat, he wouldn't have crossed the bridge again, and then he wouldn't have fallen." A different boy explained.

"But then it would've have been one of us." I defended myself.

The group pondered that for a moment, but then went right back to accusing me. "What about your '**visions'**?" A girl spat the word 'visions' with disgust. "Did you see him fall before it happened?"

I considering lying to them and saying that I hadn't seen it happen, but I'd never been a very convincing liar. "Yes." I mumbled.

"What was that?" A boy said harshly. "I couldn't hear you."

"Yes." I said louder, but my voice was still weak.

"God, you're such a freak." A girl stared at me in horror. "Why didn't you do anything about it?"

"I-I tried." My voice began to crack.

"No you didn't." someone disparaged me. I didn't even look up to see who had said it; it's not like who said it made a difference.

I wanted to shout, 'I didn't see you doing anything!' but I didn't have the courage. "I'm sorry."

"Mary Alice Brandon!" My mother approached us then. "I told you to stay in the house!"

Before I could respond, Michael turned to my mother. "Mary Alice killed a boy."

"What!?" My mother put her hand up to her mouth to cover her gasp. "Is this true, Mary?"

"Not really." I replied. "I-I … I knew he was going to die, and I tried to stop it …"

Someone suddenly interrupted, "But she didn't."

"What do you mean you knew he was going to die?" My mother stepped closer, but then cringed when I reached for her. I'd never known how degrading it was to see my own mother recoil from my touch – until now.

"I … I," I was positive this was the last thing my mother wanted to hear. "I saw it."

"Let me guess." Her voice was practically inaudible. "You saw it in a vision."

"Yes." I avoided her piercing gaze.

My mother sighed exasperatedly, wiping her forehead with her palm. "Alright, Mary Alice. I'm sorry, but I am sick and tired of you constantly acting this way …." She stopped.

"We all are." Michael added.

"I don't need your commentary, Mr. Henderson." My mother snapped. Then she continued, "I figured that these visions of yours wouldn't be a big deal, but it appears I was wrong. I think you need … help."

Help? Like psychiatric help? My stomach seemed to fall, so deep that it just vanished and I couldn't feel it anymore. I had never felt more humiliated and demeaned in my entire life – never had I felt so depressed – and don't think the feeling was going to fade any time soon. In blunt terms, my mother had just called me mentally retarded.

I swallowed. "Help?"

"I'm sorry." She repeated.

"But …" My eyes searched hers, longing to find some compassion. Then I looked over at the rest of the group; they stared at me in revulsion, as if I were something to be afraid of – and in their eyes, too, I couldn't even find a tint of sympathy.

"Go back to the house and pack your things." My mother whimpered, tears beginning to form in her eyes. She was the one crying? Could she hear the things coming out of her own mouth? How did she think **I** felt about all this? If anyone should be crying, it should be me – sorry if I'm sounding selfish. But against my efforts, I was too enraged to cry.

"Mom! …" I objected.

"**Mary Alice**." She emphasized with force. "Go back to your room and pack your things."

**************

When I got to my room, I didn't feel like packing. In the end, I'd only come up with two dresses, a shirt and some underwear. I wasn't sure where I'd be going, or if I'd be able to buy new things when I got there, so I carelessly threw all my items in a bag and marched downstairs. My mother was waiting for me, a frown plastered on her face. I wonder if she ever got tired of frowning.

Sitting by herself on the chair in the corner was my sister, Cynthia, bawling her eyes out. When I entered the room, she dashed up to me and wrapped me a hug. She held me so tight, it hurt, but I didn't care. I hugged her back, smelling her vanilla scented perfume and her lavender shampoo; I would miss that smell, not knowing if I would be able to get a whiff of it ever again.

"I'll miss you, Mary Alice." She wept.

I glanced over at my mother. She seemed unemotional, even when she was a witness to the pain she was inflicting. "And I'll miss you, Cynthia."

"Where are you going?" She asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks, leaving her eyes red and puffy.

"I don't know." I replied honestly.

"How did you know what to pack when you don't know where you're headed?" She wondered innocently. Always like Cynthia to dwell on the trivial things.

"I just threw what I needed in my bag." I responded.

"Did you pack a toothbrush?" She asked cutely.

"No." I paused and then added, "But I'm sure toothbrushes will be supplied where I'm going."

"Are you sure?" She asked.

I sighed. "I'm pretty sure."

"Alright, Mary Alice." My mother stood, throwing a paper she had in her hand down on the counter, still unresponsive. "Are you ready to go? I've called a gentleman and he agreed to give you an appointment set to begin in fifteen minutes." I tried to resist gagging when she said 'gentleman'. She knew the proper term as well as I did: psychiatrist.

"Yes." I sighed. How could she be so pokerfaced right now? Was she bluffing?

"Can I come?" Cynthia asked.

"No" my mother answered simply.

"Bye, Mary." Cynthia smiled as wide as she could.

"Bye." I frowned.

"Don't get into anything while I'm gone, Cynthia Marie." My mother clarified, supposing her middle name enforced the rule even more. "I'll be back soon."

Cynthia didn't respond as we walked out the front door and down the walk towards the Model T. I wanted to try to let some tears fall down my cheeks, hoping that it would change my mothers mind, but it felt like my tear ducts were dry. I couldn't cry at all; I felt like a robot. As I climbed into the front seat, my mother was already starting the engine. I knew instantly that this was going to be one of those awkward silences.

The car jumped to a start, bubbling to life, as my mother cautiously backed out and headed toward the main road. As she picked up speed, I noticed her breathing was getting unnaturally heavy. Every now and then, she would glance over at me, as if she were making sure I was still there. Finally, she couldn't take the silence any longer, even though it hadn't been more than five minutes.

"How do you feel about taking a life, Mary Alice?" She asked me. "That's what concerns me the most."

"I'm not sure that I'm the one that took it." I replied.

"I wasn't there, so I'm not the judge." My mother tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

"Well, then who is the judge? I was there, and obviously no one cares what my say in the matter is." I crossed my arms across my chest.

"No need to raise your voice." She frowned. "But what about your friends? They were there, weren't they? Could they be the judge?"

"They aren't my friends." My voice sounded drier and more confident than usual. "And besides, I don't think that would be a very fair trial, since all they think I am is guilty."

"Why would they think that?" She wondered. I remembered she was so in the dark on everything that was going on, all that had happened.

"Because, in their eyes, I killed their best friend." I explained. Then I corrected myself, "Their 'leader'."

"Oh, I see." She sighed. "This is all a matter of who's higher up on the totem pole."

"Not exactly." I stared at my hands.

"What is it then?" She questioned, her tone becoming sharper. "Are you trying to fit in? Are you trying to stand out? What is it with you that makes you so addicted to attention?"

"I'm not trying to be any of those things, mom." I stared out the windshield at the road in front of us. "I'm not addicted to attention."

"Then why has this vision bit been so vital to you lately? Do you think it'll make you more popular?" She looked over at me, the wind blowing her hair in her face.

"No." I stared. "And what do you mean 'lately'?"

She exhaled. "Mary Alice, these visions aren't new to you. When you were young, you had blackouts, where – momentarily – you would be disconnected from the rest of the world. It wasn't until you learned how to talk that you told your father and I that you were seeing pictures flash before your eyes. We didn't know what to make of what you were telling us, so we ignored it; we just assumed you had a very creative imagination.

"But soon after your father's death," She continued. "I remember one day most clearly – you were sitting in the corner, and I hadn't noticed but you had blacked out. Cynthia had been only two and the time and she was playing by the armoire. A couple moments later, you hastily jumped up and pushed your sister away from the armoire. Five minutes later, a train roared by – this is when we lived by the Biloxi train tracks – and the armoire toppled over, right where your sister had been.

"It was then that I realized, the images were becoming videos. And with every video, the blackouts got longer and longer. I recall once you were out of it for a whole day." She finished up. "But now that a life's been taken, I'm afraid things have become more complicated."

************

About ten minutes later, I sat alone in a wooden chair, swinging my feet back and forth, letting my mind roam where it wanted. The room I was in was long and skinny, kind of like a lane at a bowling alley. At the far end of the room was a desk and behind it sat a gray old woman; she looked incredibly bored and looked at each patient as nothing new. This room was in a four-story building – tall compared to some of the others in town – on the third floor to be precise. The front door of the room I was in had a big sign on it labeled 'Dr. Colman's Psychiatric Therapy'. Great, now I felt even more stupid than I already was.

Nevertheless, despite my surroundings, all I could see was Tommy. Not like one of my visions, but like a playback of my memories. Every time it got to the point where his head was engulfed by the current and the wolf began to howl, I blinked my eyes, trying to push the image away. That was one picture I didn't feel like seeing twice.

Breaking my concentration, my mother walked out of a door by the front desk. Her face was sullen and distracted as she walked up to me. She idly slumped in the chair beside me, not looking at me at all.

She took a big breath before speaking. "Dr. Colman will see you now, Mary Alice." Her voice sounded uniform and programmed.

Looking at her briefly, I stood and walked – impossibly slow – to the door by the front desk. When I got there, the old woman looked up at me and noticing my hesitance, nodded. I turned the handle and stepped into a square room, much smaller than the first. There was a long table consuming the room, with three men sitting at one end.

The man sitting at the head of the table, appraising me, said, "Please sit down, Mary Alice." I obliged and sat at the opposite end of them. I felt uncomfortable as they just looked at me in unfilled silence.

The same man spoke again, "I'm Dr. Colman. This is Dr. Gregorio." He indicated the young man on his left. "And Dr. Cohen." He nodded toward an elderly black man on his right.

I did not know if I was supposed to say hello – given the situation and place – so I just nodded.

"We just spoke with your mother." Dr. Colman paused, and then continued. "These visions of yours, are they regular?" When I didn't respond, he rephrased, "Like are they daily? Weekly? Monthly?"

"No." My voice was fragile. "There is no pattern. They happen when they happen."

The one named Dr. Gregorio furiously wrote down my response on a pad of paper.

"Your mother noted that you … blackout during the visions." Dr. Cohen spoke this time. "Do you have any physical pain when the blackouts occur?"

"No." I repeated. Once again, Dr. Gregorio scribbled my answer down on the pad.

"How long have these visions been taking place?" Dr. Colman asked. "Your mother quoted 'since birth'. What is your response?"

"I don't know." I said. "Since birth, I guess."

"How does it happen? Your mother said you described it as a video. Could you be more specific?" Dr. Colman continued the interrogation.

"It starts out as just words," I explained. "But then it progresses into film-like pictures in front of my eyes. Sometimes it lasts only several seconds, but, according to my mother, the video has lasted as long as twenty-four hours."

"The time it lasted twenty-four hours, do you remember what that certain vision was about?" Dr. Cohen asked.

"No." I replied simply.

"Interesting." Dr. Cohen mumbled, looking at me with wide eyes.

To my surprise, Dr. Colman laughed. "Now, Mary Alice," He chuckled. "I've seen a lot of cases in my day, but yours is pretty unique …." His voice trailed away.

There was a moment where Dr. Colman suddenly became serious, and the other two doctors stared it him.

Then he spoke, "What you say is also a tad far-fetched … hard to believe."

"I'm telling the truth!" I didn't mean for my tone to harden and my volume to raise.

"That's enough, ma'am." Dr. Colman sighed, glancing at Dr. Cohen and then nodding.

In a gentle voice, Dr. Cohen smiled politely, "You may go outside now, Mary Alice. We'll come out in a moment with the verdict."

I stood reluctantly and slowly shuffled toward the door. Their eyes glared into my back; I could feel their stares. When I stepped out of the room – glad to be away from them – I was shocked to find my mother standing right there.

"What did they say?" She asked.

"Were you listening?" I fumed.

She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away from the door. Then she whispered, "I tried to, but the old lady kept shooing me away from the door."

"Mom! …" I looked into her eyes.

"I'm just a concerned mother, that's all." She sat down in one of the wooden chairs, and pulled me down to beside her. I was actually pleased to see that she was showing some emotion at this point. "So? What did they say?" She repeated.

"They just asked me a bunch of questions." I responded wryly.

"And the verdict? What do you suppose it'll be?" She wondered.

"I don't know." I answered honestly.

It was at this moment that I became instantly worried. What if the verdict was: 'I'm sorry to say this, but you're utterly insane'? What would become of me then? Would it be like an ancient disposal, like burning me at the stake? Or would they just send me back home to live with the guilt of being mental? What if they pushed me out of society and left me to die alone in the woods? Or what if they let me die quick and easy, like giving me poison or something like that?

Abruptly, Dr. Colman burst out of the door by the front desk, holding a large envelope in his hands. Behind him, Dr. Cohen and Gregorio followed. Their expressions were bleak, except for Dr. Cohen, who had nothing but empathy painted on his eyes. Dr. Colman approached us, handing my mother the envelope.

He cleared his throat. "Mary Alice, considering your condition, we've decided to place you in a special society where your gift will be appreciated."

_Like the circus? _I thought.

Without opening the envelope my mother asked, "How long will she be gone?"

"Three years." He answered. Then he added, "At the minimum."

_THREE YEARS! _My brain scrambled. I hadn't noticed, but my hands were shaking violently.

Dr. Cohen must've noticed my panic, and he smiled considerately, "Don't worry. You will be safe and taken well care of."

"Have a nice day, Mary Alice." Dr. Colman nodded. "You too, Ms. Brandon. Best wishes to you both."

Dr. Colman walked back to the other room then, with Dr. Gregorio trailing behind him like a mindless drone. However, Dr. Cohen tagged behind. I thought he would speak, but then he sighed and then followed the others instead. My mother was frozen, unable to move. I simply grabbed the envelope from her grasp and pulled out a single piece of paper.

It was a registration … a registration to the Harriett Lankan Asylum.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I've been soooo busy this summer, so I've been able to post absolutely nothing. But I'm going back to skewl really soon (which means I'll be returning to working on all my stories) gracias for reading :] **_

Alice's POV

After leaving the clinic, everything was a blur. My mother had silently waited for a taxi to come pick me up, the cab driver politely took my things and ushered me into the car, and we drove off in the direction of Harriet Lankan Asylum. As we passed Biloxi, Mississippi's town limits. I suddenly became worried.

What would become of my future? What if after I left the asylum, I wouldn't be able to go to college? I doubted that important colleges approved of mentally incapacitated on a resume. And I bet that applying for a job was as equally complimentary. I assumed my life at the asylum would be difficult, but it wasn't until now that I considered the days after my release.

However, what if I never was released? What if I stayed at Harriet Lankan for the rest of my life? I would never be able to get a good education. I would never be able to marry the man of my dreams. I would never be able to start a family with said man. What if I were never able to see my mother ever again? What about Cynthia? I was probably never going to be allowed to visit them on holidays or birthdays or anything.

I'd become officially disconnected from the rest of my existence.

Harriet Lankan was going to be my new life now, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I would have to spend the rest of my days doing whatever girls in asylums do. I would never be able to escape the unsanitary lifestyle – unless …

What if I died there?

As instantly as the thought had entered my brain, I pushed it back out. I didn't want to think about dying at Harriet Lankan – or dying in general. I didn't want to think about it at all. The thought of death was horrifying, and nothing I would be able to handle at the moment.

Longing to get my mind off the subject, I stared out the window at the passing scenery. I had never been outside the city limits before, so the outside world was completely and utterly unfamiliar to me. I hadn't stopped to wonder how far away Harriet Lankan was. Was it just in the neighboring town? Or was it in a completely different state?

After about an hour of silent driving, the car final pulled abruptly onto a hidden drive. The road was covered above us with a canopy of unkempt tree branches. All land surrounding the path was swampy and untamed. As we drowned in the overgrowth of nothing but a mixture of brown and green, I felt like I was slowly drifting out of reality and into some nightmarish daydream.

But almost as instantly as we entered the forest, it was gone – and before me was a giant five-story stone building. It must've been none other than the Harriet Lankan asylum. I had never seen a structure so large in my lifetime, and just the sight of the rundown place made me want to vomit. It was a truly horrendous and unusual construction. The first thing that came to mind?

A prison.

And as much as I hated to admit it, that's exactly what Harriet Lankan Asylum was. It was – without a doubt – a penitentiary. I hadn't even been inside and I already hated it. Hell, I hadn't even gotten out of the cab and I already despised it! However, to my misfortune, this would be my new home until God knows when I'll be saved from it.

"This is the place." The cab driver broke my prolonged reverie.

"Thank you." I was about to climb out of the cab, when I remembered he still expected payment for driving a whole hour and half. I placed some money in his waiting extended hand and stepped out of the taxi.

"Do you need help with your bags, miss?" The driver's voice emptied out of the car, out into the open air, eventually wafting to my ears.

"I've got it." I walked reached into the backseat, pulling out my one and only suitcase.

When I shut the door, he leaned his head out the window, shrugging, "Good luck – you're going to need it in there."

I shivered. "Thank you." And with that, he made a quick U-turn and then flew speeding back into the woods.

Unsure of my next move, I stared up at the ratty building, noticing that every window was barricaded with iron bars; this must've really been a prison. Catching my attention, I saw the front door creak open, revealing a shriveled up old woman. After taking a close look at me she raised her fingers and took of her circular lenses and shook her head.

"Visiting hours are over." She spat.

I took a deep breath. "I'm not a visitor."

"Then what are you?" She questioned, stepping out the door and into the light.

Sadly – "I'm a resident."

"Oh!" The elderly woman carefully moved towards me, wrapping her wrinkly fingers around my arm. She pulled me through the door – rather forcefully – and slammed the door behind us.

This room wasn't as dark and frightening as I had previously believed. There were two windows on each wall each wall except for the one facing me (each, of course were barred). The stone walls were dirty and in need of cleaning. I instantly knew I would need to downgrade when it came to hygiene now.

The woman sat down behind a wooden desk, furiously scribbling something down on a piece of paper. "I would've never been able to tell you would be joining us." She said. "You're so nicely dressed. What's that for?" She indicated my suitcase.

"Oh, i-it's my bag." I quivered.

"Well, you won't be needing that." She came up and snatched the bag from me. Her eyes shot up to mine. "Anything of value in here?"

"Uh, no. Just some old clothes." I frowned.

"Alright then." She put my bag under the desk and said no more on the subject.

"Hmm." My eyes scanned the room once more. It sort of reminded me of a castle.

"What did you say your name was, deary?" when she spoke, my eyes traveled back to her.

"I didn't." I looked down at my feet. "But I'm Mary Alice Brandon."

"Ah, yes. We've been expecting your arrival. By the way, I'm Eileen." She wrote down something – presumably my name – on a yellowed sheet of paper. "I pray your ride up was pleasant."

No, my ride up was absolutely unbearable! "My ride was very nice, thank you. Lovely scenery."

"Yes, the surrounding area is very … um, picturesque." Eileen stated. "I love your clothes. They look expensive."

"Oh, back in Biloxi my clothes aren't very classy." I tugged on my sleeve apprehensively.

"Well, they sure are classy compared to what you'll be wearing." Eileen warned me.

"What?" I wouldn't be able to wear my own clothes?

"You … well, I guess you'll find out soon in enough. Come along." She moved around the desk and began to walk down a hallway, me following close behind.

After a few steps down the hallway, we began our way up a long stairwell. The staircase seemed endless, or maybe that was because it was completely bare with exception of a few occasionally doors. There was nothing welcoming about this place whatsoever. I followed Eileen up the stairway, trying to keep up with her speedy pace. When we finally reached the end of the flight of steps, I was finally introduced to what I may be doing for the rest of my life.

There were only five males in the entire room, the rest were entirely female. I discovered that instead of wearing my own clothes, I'd be wearing the uniform – which was utterly similar to a enlarged dirty pillowcase. On one side of the room, there was nothing but a long row of cells, with at least twenty-five girls in each unit. On the opposite side were about five desks, a male sitting at each table. In front of each counter, a long line of girls waited there turn. I wasn't sure what exactly they were waiting for.

"Welcome, to your new life, Mary Alice Brandon." The old woman told me.

I exhaled, trying to hold back tears.

"Don't seem too distressed." She placed her hand gently on my shoulder.

"Why not?" I asked, looking at her worn face.

"The caretakers don't like it." She warned. "Remain calm and you should be fine." With that final word, she left me, wheeling her way back down the endless stairwell.

And I was left alone.

I was left to watch the tragic sight of young girls – some younger than me being herded like cattle into categories and eventually into cells. I was left to witness my brand new routine; and absolutely no one cared if I enjoyed doing this routine or not. This was my life, and I had to toughen up and deal with it. The only problem was I had no clue if I had the guts to toughen up and deal with it. All I wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry until my eyes eventually couldn't take it anymore.

I went unnoticed for a maximum of ten minutes, until a man stood up from a table and walked over to me. "Can I help you?" His voice was stern, fearsome.

"I'm n-new here." I trembled.

The man rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

I ignored the impatience in his tone. "Do you think you can help me find my way?"

He exhaled intolerantly. "Come with me."

He led me to the table he had been sitting at, placing me at the very back of the line. But it wasn't long until several more girls wearing pillowcases were released from a cell and placed in a orderly line behind me.

The girl directly behind me had black hair down to her shoulders, a shade very similar to mine. Her face was ashen, with heavy bags under her eyes. She's seemed outright bored, wanting to be anywhere other than her – and I didn't blame her.

Being friendly, I turned and extended my hand to her. "Hello. I'm Mary Alice."

She slowly brought her eyes to mine, her face never brightening. "I'm Nathalie."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Nathalie." I grinned widely, trying to get her to smile. She didn't.

"Humph." She looked away from me.

"This place is dreadful, is it not?" I attempted to make conversation. "I've been here no more than twenty minutes and I'm already fed up."

"Wait till you're here for an hour." She sulked. "Maybe then you'll be crying for your mother, if not sooner."

I wavered a bit at her statement, but continued talking. "I'm sure I'll be able to handle it."

"That's doubtable." Her grayed skin seemed to be losing color in front of my eyes.

"You look ill. Are you alright?" I inquired.

"Look around." She glowered. "Everybody looks like this. Stay in here, and it won't be long before even you lose your precious, faultless glow."

I lifted my hand to my face worriedly as I moved forward with the rest of the line. "It can't be that bad."

"Don't be so sure." She looked away from me.

"Next!" The man who had guided me in called me to the front of the table.

I stepped forward, grinning at him politely. When he did return the favor, my smile vanished.

"Name?" he began the interrogation.

"Mary Alice Brandon." I replied promptly.

"From now on you will be referred to as Alice and only Alice …"

I accidentally interrupted. "But I love my name!"

His irritated face raised up from his paper to glare at me. "Well, that's too bad. Your name is **Alice**."

"Alright." I whispered inaudibly.

"Age?"

"I'm sixteen. But my birthday is coming up in a week or two."

He frowned. "In that case, you are seventeen."

"Okay." I agreed.

"Your number is 9921. You will proceed to stall seven for your haircut …"

I inadvertently interrupted again. "Haircut! No! Please, I beg of you! Don't cut my hair!"

He stood, his face inching towards mine. At first I thought he was going to kiss me, until he opened his mouth wide and yelled, "Next!"

I moved forward as Nathalie confronted him monotonously. Trying to keep up with the flow of traffic, I hesitantly headed for stall seven. Steadily sitting in the seat, staring at my long beautiful flowing hair in the mirror, a woman – most likely in her mid-forties – picked up the scissors.

Just as the blade made contact with my hair, I shrieked. "No! Wait!"

"What?" She pulled the blade away, placing her hand on her hip exasperatedly.

"Where are you going to cut it to?" I wondered.

She lifted her index finger and put it directly below my ear.

"Oh, no! That's far too short!"

"Too late, doll face."

Before I could protest any longer, the woman took the scissors and clipped off one slice of my hair. Trying to push back the tears, I clenched my eyes shut not wanting watch. I exercised deep breaths as she snipped each one of my locks until its length could be legally classified as dumpy. I heard her exhale deeply, and then I heard the clank as she dropped the scissors onto a nearby counter.

"All done." She breathed.

I reluctantly opened my eyes slightly, but then slammed them shut, afraid of the outcome.

"C'mon, girly. I've got more girls waiting to get there cuts. Besides, its not like anyone in here cares what you look like." She pressed.

My eyes opened carefully, resting on the image that faced me in the mirror. I took a deep sigh … of relief. I honestly didn't look half bad. As I praised the job well done, the woman shooed me out of the chair and down to the next station. I noticed Nathalie getting up and walking in the same direction as I.

I rushed up to here. "Nathalie! Look at my hair! Isn't it pretty?"

She glanced over at me half-heartedly. "Sure."

"You're hair looks beautiful too." I smiled civilly. "But I bet your used to short hair. Yours wasn't very long before anyway."

Her eyes widened and then fell. "My hair used to be long – almost waist length. But when I was sentenced to the asylum, they sliced it short. I've been getting these cuts monthly; my hair just had to get re-cut again."

I just had to ask. "How long have you been here?"

"I think it'll be four years soon." She informed me.

"Four years! Why haven't you been released yet!?"

She let out a low laugh. "You don't get released."

My spirits fell. "Does that mean I'll never leave?"

"You'll stay here until someone comes for you, or until you die."

I couldn't believe it. I would never leave Harriet Lankan Asylum – ever. I would be stuck in this crappy place for the rest of my life … that is until someone came to get me. I was sure my mother would come back for me. I would just have to wait here until she arrived. And that wouldn't be too long – would it?

"Well, this is where I leave you." Nathalie broke my concentration.

"What!? Don't leave me!" I pleaded. She had become the only familiar face in this hellhole.

"I've already gotten branded. See?" She lifted her sleeve and exposed the number 8996 pressed into her skin.

"Branded!"

"Yeah." She nodded, walking away. "Your hair color is somewhat similar to mine. We should be in the same cell."

"Nathalie! Come back!" I whimpered.

"9921!" someone shouted. I recognized it as my number.

My eyes traveled to the source of the voice. Someone stood there, with a long iron stick stuck in a fiery boiler. When it was pulled out, the metal was steaming hot, with the numbers 9921 etched into the bar. I hesitantly approached and couldn't help but scream when he pressed the steaming press into my skin.

**_Thx again for reading! btw, After Breaking Dawn will be returning soon! _**


	4. Chapter 4

Alice's POV

Tears began to trickle down my face as I walked away from one station to the next. The brand on my upper arm still throbbed menacingly.

I was handed my clothing – pillowcase – to put on. After slowly taking off my other clothes, self-consciously handing them to the woman, and slipping the filthy garment over my head, I watched as she threw my other clothes into the trash; I was positive I'd be wearing this pillowcase either till I was rescued or until the day I died.

I was ushered over to the next station where a woman stood with a list in her hand. As soon as I approached, she lifted a strand of my hair carelessly and then marked something down on her paper.

"Follow me." She sighed.

She led me to a cell labeled 317. Inside I saw a bunch of girls almost identical to me – short blackish hair, same ugly clothing, and same brand punctured into our skin. The only difference was that these girls looked wretched, starved. Just like Nathalie had said: I would eventually lose my "precious glow" too.

As the woman opened the cell gate, all the eyes shot over to me. There had to be a least twenty girls in this one compacted space. The all stared at me with regret in there eyes – there was even a certain wildness and rage bottled up in their pupils. I was too frightened to take a step further, so the woman had to shove me in.

My eyes scanned the room, searching for the one and only familiar face I knew. As if to make it easier for me, Nathalie raised her hand without even politely throwing me a glance. I went over to the corner and sat beside her.

"That was horrifying." I mumbled. I hardly recognized my own irresolute voice.

"Branding?" Nathalie shrugged off my statement. "Well, you won't have to go through it again. That is, unless, you are here long enough where it fades and must be redone."

"Ugh." I frowned. "I never want to go through that ever again. This place is horrible …. Nothing like home."

"Pfft." Nathalie's eyes shifted from the ground to mine and then back to the floor again.

I looked at her face, watching her body move up and down subtly as she breathed lightly. Trying to get her to lighten up, I grinned widely. "Where are you from?"

"Georgia." She responded, her face momentarily falling.

"Do you miss it there?" I wondered.

"Very much." She almost whispered; I had to strain in order to hear her.

"Have you got any family there?" I crossed my legs, lifting my hand to naturally brush it through my hair – until I recalled there wasn't enough hair to brush through.

"I used to."

The next question was somewhat instinctive. "What happened to them?"

Her eyes fleeted to mine, piercing into my soul. "Why are you in here?"

I mumbled. "You didn't answer my question."

"Answer mine." She admonished.

"Alright." I gulped. "I have visions. I can see the future … honestly, I can."

She looked like she wanted to laugh hysterically but she didn't have the energy or breath to do so. "Well, that's interesting."

"But you still didn't answer me." I protested. "What happened to your family?"

"I'm getting to that." She exhaled. "I'm in here for a reason too. Can you guess what it is?"

I hadn't a clue. "No."

"Well, long story short." She looked away from me. "I committed a homicide – three actually."

"To who?" I wondered.

"You're not very smart, are you?" she gave an exasperated attempt at what sounded like a giggle. "My family is dead … because I killed them."

"Why would you do that?" I'd never heard of such a crazy thing.

"You are no use." She blinked for a very long time. "I don't feeling like giving out my motive."

I crawled over beside her and leaned against the wall, surprisingly not afraid of her, even after she'd confessed to three homicides. Trying to mimic her, I stretched out my legs like Nathalie, but I still came a foot short; I'd always been extremely petite.

"Well." I began. "I am from Biloxi, Mississippi. Not far from here, I suppose – about an hour or two by car. I have a sister named Cynthia and a … loving mother … who sent me here for my own good."

"She doesn't seem very supportive." Nathalie glimpsed over at me.

"Oh, she's very supportive." I disagreed. "But she did was she thought was best for me and my family."

Nathalie said nothing. I supposed she wasn't the talkative type.

Therefore, I decided to fill in silence for her. "My father died when I was four. He worked out on the railroad, connecting the cars by hand. And one day, he was connecting the hitch, and another railcar came booming in too fast and it crushed him. I miss him of course, but I'm stronger than I look, so it was nothing I couldn't overcome."

"Ha." Nathalie laughed blankly.

"Just to cover all the other subjects." I explained myself. "I've never had many friends – I suppose it was because I just love being alone most of the time. I guess you're my friend now."

"Doubt it." Nathalie stared at the opposite wall pointlessly.

"You don't think we should be friends?" I questioned.

"I've never had a friend before." She admitted.

"Well, then I guess this is a first for the both of us." I held out my hand. "To our new friendship."

"Uh." She hesitantly lifted her hand and shook mine. "Sure."

"Oh my gosh!" a girl exclaimed. Nathalie and I both looked up at the commotion.

Two girls were crowding the barred window, excitedly pointing and waving out of it. Several girls got up from their sitting positions to run to the window as well. I obviously had no idea what was going on, so I turned to Nathalie. She didn't react so, in response, neither did I.

But I had to ask. "What are they so thrilled about?"

"He's probably walking outside the window." Nathalie answered callously.

"Who?" I wondered.

"It's the blonde boy." A girl quickly replied for me. I didn't know which one had said it until they sat down beside me.

She looked equally similar to every girl in the room except for her intense blue eyes.

"Nobody knows his name, though." She continued. "Isn't that mysterious?"

Nathalie interceded. "Mainly that's because none of you have ever actually spoken to him."

"I will." The girl beside me vowed. "One day he'll realize that he loves me. He'll come up this desolate tower and rescue me from this prison."

"Don't be so buoyant." Nathalie opposed.

"Oh, don't act like you hadn't loved him for at least five minutes." The girl stood. "It's impossible not to."

I looked over at Nathalie. "He must be very attractive if all these girls are drooling over him."

"He is somewhat appealing." Nathalie agreed without a single emotion on her face.

"Hey, maybe he'll talk to me." I rose up off the floor and began to step towards the window.

A different girl put her hands on her hips. "What makes you think he'll talk to you if he hasn't spoken to any of us?"

I disregarded her haughty tone. "Because I'm a new face that he's never seen before."

Many girls backed away, agreeing with me. However, some refused to move. I passed them aimlessly, ignoring them completely. Finally reaching the window, I wrapped my fingers around the ledge, leaned forward, and looked down towards the ground.

And there he was.

He truly was gorgeous – assumingly nineteen or twenty years old. He nonchalantly leaned against a nearby tree, his eyes staring up at all the windows of the asylum. I wanted to process every little detail about him, so I could lock him up in my brain and remember him forever. His perfect facial features, his flawless pale muscled body, and his golden hair made me melt – I had mentioned before that I was an utter sucker for blondes, hadn't I? I wanted to try to see his eyes but he was too far down for me to confirm the actual color.

For an instant, our eyes met, though, and almost instantaneously, his face brightened.

He shrugged off the tree, sauntered faultlessly over towards the building, and looked straight up at the window, watching me intently.

"Hello!" I waved.

A girl behind me swatted me on the back. "Don't talk to him!" I paid no attention to her.

"Hey!" He responded back.

At the sound of his voice a bunch of girls gasped, shocked that he responded. I heard a bunch of whispers behind me but discarded them directly after I heard them.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"James!" He yelled up at me.

I turned to look back at the girls and saw that they were on the verge of passing out.

"And who are you?" His voice brought me to look back down at him.

"I'm Mar- …" I was about to say Mary Alice, but I recalled the man at the desk. I knew that I did not have to follow that rule in this given situation, but as I thought it over, I realized that Alice was a much prettier name than just Mary Alice was. for that reason, I rephrased, "I'm Alice!"

He turned away from me for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes returned to me quickly. "That's the prettiest name I've ever heard!"

"Why, thank you!" I suddenly felt overwhelmed.

"And I bet you have a pretty face to match." His succulent voice wafted up to me.

"Can't you see me from down there?" I wondered stupidly.

"Not well enough." He replied. "You look delectable from a distance, which only makes me wonder how mouthwatering you are up close."

I looked down at my feet embarrassedly for a brief moment but then quickly snapped my eyes back down to him. "Why don't you come rescue me then?"

At that instant, one of the girls pulled me away from the window. It was Nathalie. "Are you insane? You don't even know that guy." Despite her urgency, her face was still void and morose.

"Yes I do." I objected.

"You know his name is James." She countered. "What else do you know?"

"That he thinks I'm pretty."

"That's doesn't matter, for all you know he could be a murderer." Nathalie sighed.

"He doesn't look like a murderer." I frowned, tempted to just jump out the window now – he looked strong enough to catch me. The only thing in the way was the stupid iron bars blocking my exit.

"Do I look like murderer?" she challenged.

I was about to respond when James's voice broke my concentration. "Are you still there, Alice?"

I rushed back to the window. "Yes!" I was probably blushing excessively right now.

"Well, I must be going but I promise that I'll return." He guaranteed.

"You promise?" I giggled.

"Believe me when I say," He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Nothing can keep me away."

*************

Soon enough, it got to late for me to keep my eyes open.

As I slowly drifted into my dreamscape, I processed everything that had happened to me that day – how much my life had so dramatically altered. I for one had a new lifestyle, a new home, a new family, a new wardrobe, a new friend, and an extremely stunning new admirer.

No matter how much I tried, I couldn't get the image of James out of my head. I had considered the thought "What if James really did come up and get me?" once or twice since he'd left, but the idea was just too surreal to come true. And as much as I tried to complain, I knew Nathalie was correct: I knew absolutely nothing about James, other than his name.

However, I was never the type of person to give up on a fantasy, so for all I knew, James could show up at cell 317's door at this very moment. He'd be there to swoop me off my feet, to take me away where we could live happily ever after.

Maybe my desire of life after the asylum could be real …?

But, out of all this unanswered questions, I did know one thing. The sooner I was released from Harriet Lankan, the better. I wanted out of this dump, no matter what it took and no matter who would save me. I couldn't help but wonder what my mother and sister were doing right now. Most likely sleeping, for I had no clue what the late hour was – but without doubt it had to be close to midnight.

All the other girls, already well adjusted to sleeping on the cold concrete floor, fell asleep instantly – even Nathalie. So I was left to sit awake, watching as an occasional male guard would make his rounds; he'd pass cell 317 and then not pass it again for another two minutes. His repetativity made me sleepy – like counting sheep.

Eventually, I drifted into a restless sleep, full of nightmares and horrifying thoughts. However, right before my night became peaceful, I had a vision.

"_Just come with me." _I couldn't recoganize the voice or the face it belonged to.

An elderly man pulled me under the long staircase I had come up in.

"_Why did you take me away?" _my worried voice frantically said.

"_You're in danger." The man warned. "I need to save you."_

"_You don't understand!" I shouted._

_He clapped his hand over my mouth. "Shh. Stay quiet!" _

"_Take me back! I'm not leaving this asylum … " _the vision shorted out for a moment, so I didn't get the last bit of the sentence, but I got the key part of it. Why in the world did I not want to leave this horrible place?

"_You must." The old man frowned. "Please forgive me for ruining your life." _

"_What are you t-talking about …?" My voice wavered until I was limp in the old man's arms. _

And the vision ended unfinished – a cliffhanger – as everyone of my visions always did. As valuable as seeing the future can be, I hated the problem-solving portion of it all.

I especially didn't want to do any problem-solving as I drifted into the most perfect dream I'd ever had. It was me and James … and there was nothing more to it.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Whoa it's been forever since I updated this story, but for some random reason, I had the urge to write about Alice … Jasper must be manipulating me :)**_

Alice's POV

The days passed, and, much to my disappointment, they were James-less.

I was bored a lot of the time. I wasn't quite sure what I had expected girls in asylums to do all day, but I hadn't guessed it was just sit in a cell and wait for the weekly physicals. My first appointment was spotless – I was in one-hundred percent perfect health. But as I passed the rest of the waiting line to go back to the cell, I noticed all of the girls coughing and bleeding and looking downright ghastly. I couldn't help but feel terrible for all of them.

As each physical passed, my wellbeing grew worse and worse. My blood grew tainted with unidentifiable bacteria; my skin grew darker and oilier, as did my hair. It came to be that I could stand in line with the rest of the girls that had been here for months and years, and no one would be able to tell the difference between us. But, I tried my hardest to stay positive.

Something else that changed about me: I let the visions come as they wished. I wouldn't mention them to anyone, not even Nathalie. They had a wide range, though, wider than they ever had – some would be completely insignificant, like which girl would throw up today and if it would rain or not. But others were more significant. I kept having visions of James walking into the asylum and visions of the old man that was taking me away. It all made no sense – so I decided not to make any sense of it. I tried my best to keep my thoughts off things like my visions and on more present problems.

My hair grew back a little bit, tickling my cheeks and just beginning to brush my shoulders. But, after my first month, it got cut again – as I watched the woman snip off the various ends, I couldn't help but love the new look. It made it easier to forget my old life in Biloxi. It felt like, with all the strands that fell to the floor, the memories drifted with them. It was an exhilarating feeling of release to be able to forget home … and what had happened to Tommy.

I had nightmares about him sometimes, about his head ducking under the water. And the only solution I could come up with that would get my mind off the crazy dreams was to not sleep at all. Sure, it put hideous bags underneath my eyes, but it kept my head clear. But, my only fear was that, what if a lack of sleep was no way to escape from the nightmares? If there is daydreaming, can there be day-nightmaring?

"Nathalie," I whispered to the small little ball that was curled up beside me. She hardly looked human. "What if the dreams start coming back?"

So far, she was the only one that knew about the nightmares – about my past. "Go to sleep, Alice."

"You're right," I nodded, pretending that she said something different than what she actually said. "I shouldn't worry about things like that. I just need to stay hopeful."

I saw the whites of her eyes move. She must've rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say."

I paused for a moment, crossing my legs and then uncrossing them again. "Do you think my mother misses me? Do you think she spends her days weeping, imagining what it would've been like if she had protested against the psychiatrists and didn't send me here?"

"Doubt it," Nathalie mumbled.

I ignored her. "I bet Cynthia misses me. I bet she gets up and looks over at the bed next to her, only to remember that it's empty. We used to play together all the time … I miss her. She must miss me too, I'm sure of it …"

"Alice," she snarled under her breath, "Go. To. Sleep."

"I'm glad you're my friend," I smiled, leaning back against the stone wall. "I don't know if I'd be able to get through this without you, Nathalie."

The sound of clanking bars startled me, and also woke up some of the sleeping girls around us. One of the guards had opened the gate to cell 317 and was scanning his eyes among each of us. A bunch of startled faces met his gaze, all except for Nathalie – she was probably too tired and too used to all of this to even react. Raising his eyebrow, the guard walked over to us and picked up his finger cautiously, poking Nathalie in the back. She snapped up, growling under her breath.

"Leave me alone, Alice!" She hissed.

Her eyes widened when she noticed the guard was directly behind her. I was equally as surprised when the guard picked her up by the arm and stared at her in the eyes.

He eyed her suspiciously. "Who's Alice? … Hallucinating, are you?"

Nathalie didn't have it in her to say anything, so I spoke for her, "No, sir. She thought it was me who had poked her. I've been rather bothersome throughout the night."

The guard paused to analyze my answer for a moment before shaking his head, "_And_ getting another wretch to cover up for you? I swear to the Lord Almighty, I think it's sad that some of you are in here, but then I get in the midst of it and remember that you're all batty."

He began to head back to the door, dragging Nathalie behind him. She looked like a corpse, completely inert.

"No! Stop!" I shouted, but he had already slammed the door, locked it and was down the hallway with my only friend in hand. Not thinking, I stood up, running up to the bars, and shaking them like some kind of restless prisoner.

"Give it a rest," a voice behind me said exhaustedly.

"Yeah," Someone else agreed. "Nathalie's not even worth it. She's got the personality of a rock."

"I don't care! She's my friend!" I protested, slamming my palm against the gate impatiently. Then, my hand fell between the bars – I had lost enough weight where'd probably be able to squeeze through. Turning sideways, I slipped through the bars.

I saw one girl behind me jump up. "What the hell are you doing!"

Another sat up as well, "They're going to kill you too if you don't get back in here!"

"Maybe it's a good thing they kill her," a different girl shrugged. "Since obviously she's crazier than the rest of us. It's been a non-pleasure knowin' ya, freak."

Ignoring them, I ran down the hall, noticing that one of the doors on the end farthest from me was ajar. I could see a couple shadows in the low light that came out, and their voices were loud.

"How long have you been here?" Someone asked strongly.

There was just a whimper in reply. I couldn't make out what they said.

There was the sound of a stinging slap and it hung in their air for a long time before the voice spoke again, "Answer me, devil! How long have you been here?"

"A year and a half …" The voice was hardly a whisper. This couldn't be Nathalie – she was too weak.

"Says here that she killed her parents and her brother on a sadistic rage," a different voice said. I recognized it to be the voice of the security guard. "With a butcher knife."

"You sick child," The sound of slapping came again. "You're just taking up space here. If I don't see her dead in the next hour, you're fired, Fitz."

"Yes, sir," the man responded obediently. Then his voice grew gruff, "You're off to the incinerator, you are."

I could hear her muffled screams as the shadows moved. Once I saw that someone was coming out, I hid behind one of the posts nearby. The man came out, the guard from before, holding Nathalie by her short black hair and pulling her down the hallway, to the steps that I had been brought up to this horrible place, and downwards out of sight. Although I knew it was stupid, I followed them down the steps, eventually getting to the basement.

There was a huge furnace, bigger than my house back home, and flames licked out of the door as the guard opened it. I looked around, noticing a bunch of buckets lined the walls. When the man wasn't looking, I was able to sneak over and look inside the buckets – they were ashes, the ashes of the people who had met the same fate Nathalie was about to meet.

I hid behind the shelves of buckets and watched in pain as Nathalie squirmed.

"No! You can't do this!" She pulled at the man's arm.

"Sorry, kiddo," He shrugged, picking up her wriggling body and stepping closer to the furnace. "But if I don't do this I'll lose my job."

"Please!" She screeched. "Please! I've done nothing wrong!"

"Done nothing wrong?" He spat. "You cut up your family in tiny little pieces, and you call that done nothing wrong? You're a freak of nature, you are. I'm doing this place justice … this _planet_ justice if I dispose of you." He paused during his self-pep talk to look down at Nathalie. "I would say to give a message to the Lord Almighty for me, but I doubt you'll be going up that way …" I saw him throw a large black bundle into the fire.

And I couldn't hear the rest of his sentence. Nathalie screams were too loud.


End file.
